The Writing Prompt Boot Camp

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 188

Before I get into today’s prompt, I just want to touch base on the results of the April PAD Challenge. I mentioned aiming to have the results ready around the beginning of August, but it’s more likely going to be the beginning of September (now that we’re half-way through August). With that in mind, let’s get to this week’s prompt.

For today’s prompt, write a change of plans poem. The change of plans can be a good change or a horrible change. It can be prompted by the weather or a person (or group of people). Everyone’s been there, right?

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127 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 188”

Parking lot, half acre
empty on a Monday afternoon,
yet you insist sidling up
next to my faithful Corolla,
kissing my back bumper with
your old beat-up Isuzu,
pitching the poor girl
forward ever so slight.
OMG, Really?
Really?!
I rip the seatbelt off me
and heave the door open
loaded for bear
while he backs up, then
tries again, this time
without contact.

Inside his cab
an old arthritic dog
with a tear-stained face
stares back sympathetically.
Once parked, the driver
hesitates at first,
out of fear or indifference
then slowly lumbers out
while I fume somewhere in the
vicinity of my rear bumper.

Short and stooped over
he is thin as a rail,
white whiskered face
masking contriteness,
or is it depression?“I am truly sorry,” he says
clutching his cap,
slight accent to the voice.

I am taken aback momentarily,
then alarmed when he speaks
for here staring back are my
father’s eyes, tired and pensive
at a crossroads struggling with
vision, judgement, memories.
His clothes are clean but patched,
much like my father’s, mended
lovingly at home perhaps by a
woman sharing the same worries
about finding work at his age.

My frustration suddenly jams
like a bullet sideways in a chamber,
nearly bringing me to tears.
Instead of ripping this man’s
lungs out, I find I’m now
stifling an urge to reach out
and clasp his shoulder,
pat his hands, promise
everything will be ok.
I want to pull out a card deck
and go a few rounds of pinochle,
shoot the breeze and
hand out tools as he works,
argue the finer merits of
Piper Cubs vs Cessnas,
Kenworths vs Peterbuilts,
Allis Chalmers vs John Deere;
all flashes of my father
years ago before the
Alzheimer’s stole him away.
So instead, I downplay
the minor damage and
let him go with a promise
to next time be more careful.